


I Promise

by sarcastic_fina



Series: The Multiships of One Chloe Sullivan [42]
Category: Smallville, Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-09
Updated: 2008-07-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 13:37:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9125989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcastic_fina/pseuds/sarcastic_fina
Summary: A Winchester's word was as good as gold and if Dean promised to free her, he would.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please keep in mind that this story was originally written in **2008** , meaning my writing style and ability has changed and grown. I'm moving this story here from Livejournal because I'm shortly going to be deleting my LJ profile, and I didn't want to lose it.

 

**I**.

Chloe Sullivan couldn't believe her luck. Seemed no matter what she did, she was always got the short end of the stick. Even with her resources, the people she knew, and all the good she'd done, she still got stuck inside a 5x9 cell for who-knows-how-long. Currently, she hadn't even gone up for her trial. They had her stuck in a dumpy little prison, waiting for whenever they could get around to her. She had a feeling that somewhere in the world, over expensive wine and caviar, Lex Luthor was laughing at her misfortune. She hoped he choked.

Oliver had tried, she knew that. But he couldn't pull too many strings without looking suspicious and he had the League to worry about, which she freely admitted was more important than her. Even though deep down inside, she wished _somebody, somewhere_ thought she was more important than whatever it was they were doing. But given her background and those many connections she'd once held so much pride in, she knew that their secrets outweighed her and while some part of her understood that, the rest of her just wanted to get out of the scratchy orange jumpsuit she was currently sporting, 24/7.

She'd been stuck on the "inside" for three and a half months and it wasn't getting easier. The coffee was so from being "acceptable" it wasn't funny. She had no computer privileges; given the background of her so-called crimes they didn't even let her _say_ "internet." She had no contact with anybody, not anymore, anyway. She was constantly being watched and so she made sure that all of the people that mattered stayed away. She cut off talking to Oliver and the entire League completely and told both Lois and Clark to just stay away. They'd been reluctant, but eventually, they stopped coming, and while outwardly she appreciated it, on the inside she felt alone and lost. The only one who kept up seeing her, despite her protests had been Jimmy. She blamed it on his recent proposal before the shit hit the fan, but he wasn't part of the grand scheme anymore. She wished she could say he was another name on the list of people she pushed away, that it was her decision to have him go, but it was his.

"It's just... I can't... I can't see it working, Chlo," he had mumbled into the phone, eyes darting away nervously. He never could look at her, all dressed up in an unflattering orange. "I wish... I wish things could be different but they're not and..." He sighed, running a hand over his face. "I really do wish..."

She had nodded, trying to look understanding. Who knew when she was getting out? Hell, if Luthor had his way, it'd be never. And so far, it wasn't looking good. Her resources were basically diminished and she was starting to think it was time to throw in the towel, to finally give in to the inevitable. If she had no other comfort, she knew that while Oliver and the boys couldn't free her, they'd spend the rest of their lives ruining Lex's. Her inner hero said it was enough, but the rest of her was praying for some kind of miracle. She was surprised when it arrived, in the form of one arrogant memory that she honestly feared she'd never meet again.

"Sullivan!" came the loud voice of the guard. "Ya gotta visitor!"

Chloe sat up, tucking her book beneath her pillow and furrowing her brows. She stood up, bypassing Bambi, her cell mate. For such a soft name, somebody might expect a softer looking woman. But Bambi was all rough edges and stringy hair, a scowl a mile wide and a glint in her eye that kept most people at bay. Thankfully, she'd picked up Chloe from the first day and hadn't let her get trampled since. But there was only so much a person could do and Chloe was pretty sure the woman four cells down was gonna gut her any day now. With her healing abilities, she wasn't _exactly_ worried. But it still hurt and it'd be more than just hard to explain.

She walked out of her cell, the rubber bottoms of her dime-a-dozen sneakers squeaking against the cement floor. "Who is it?" she asked the guard to her left; a man with deep frown lines and dark circles beneath his eyes. His name was Al and Chloe had slowly wormed her way into the man's good graces. He had two kids, an ex wife for each, and a mortgage that was _killing_ him. Behind all his gruff nature, he wasn't so bad. But he was one of few. Most of the other guards were downright cruel and they didn't care what she did or whether she did it. They weren't up for chit chat or excuses; they just wanted her to follow the rules and keep out of their way. She learned quick, but it was a lesson she wished she'd never been taught. She hated where she was, couldn't stand another day. And was starting to understand why it wasn't so rare for inmates to hang themselves in their cells.

She was alone and vulnerable and she couldn't keep pretending she was okay because she really wasn't. She was scared and every day, she felt like she was becoming more and more resolved to the fact that she was forgettable. That she was replaceable in the big bad world and that nobody was really out there, trying their damndest to get her out. Not like how she would to save them, to free them. All those friends and family members and sources that she'd built up over her lifetime; the people she would give her life for because they deserved it. Because they were good, honest, hard working people that would do _something_ for the world. But not her... No. She'd made a mistake and now she was paying for it.

The cell doors, all made of steel bars that clanged with finality each time, opened in three separate areas before she was finally near the visitation area. Just a line of cubicles with a glass pane between her and whoever it was came to see her, a phone on each side so she could hear their voice. She felt anxiety well up in her stomach. The last time she'd been here, she'd been greeted by an apologetic Jimmy Olsen, who simply wanted to move on in his life and couldn't do that with a con for a girlfriend, possible fiancée. Despite how much it hurt to know he left her, she'd honestly been ready to tell him no. He was a good man, he was. But... He wasn't right for her. She liked him, loved him even, but she didn't _trust_ him. Not like how she would need to if she ever got married. And Jimmy Olsen just wasn't that guy. Still, it hurt, a whole lot more than expected, when he finally said goodbye. He was the last one... The last visitor... The last person to look at her, smile at her, and tell her she was going to be okay... someday.

"Go on then, Sully," Al told her roughly, crossing his meaty arms over his chest and nodding his head over to the booth. "Your husband's waiting."

She managed to keep the shock from her face but inside she was bowled over. _Husband?_

She walked over hesitantly, not sure who to expect. Five men popped to mind, but half of them would've needed _her_ to pull off messing with the records needed to make it look legit enough that she'd married. Clark was out - he didn't have the hacking skills. So was Jimmy, because while he'd infiltrated her system, she was fairly certain he didn't have it in him to pull this off, especially after the conversation they'd had a month ago. That left Oliver, with the help of Victor of course, but she knew that while he held a special spot for his Watchtower, he was too loyal to his team to give them up for just one. So that left just two and somehow as she walked closer, she knew which of them would be there.

He smirked up at her, leaning back in his chair like he owned the place. And while she rolled her eyes at his antics, she was jumping for joy and sobbing with gratitude inside her head. She took a seat, staring at him for just a moment. God, he looked good. How long had it been since she last saw him? She shook her head... Too long. Last she heard, he was in a big mess of a deal and right about the same time she was being hauled away, his debt was supposed to be paid. She'd been in too long to know for sure that he got out but here he was, right in front of her, very much alive. She nearly cried; whether it was happiness that he was still kicking or the knowledge that he'd cared enough to check up on her, she wasn't sure. But she sniffled, blinked a few times, and made sure to keep the "chick flick moment," as he'd call it, to herself.

She reached for the phone, surprised at how her hand shook and brought it up to her ear, pushing a chunk of her dry blonde hair away. She _seriously_ needed some better shampoo and a nice, long, hot shower, all alone. Really, she understood that with so many people, it made sense for them to be out in the wide open for the guards to keep an eye on, but she would give _anything_ for a little privacy.

He didn't say anything at first, held the phone up to his own ear and cocked a brow at her. She could hear him breathing, steady and quiet and somehow it comforted her more than all the words Clark had sputtered out in apology or the cheesy words Jimmy doled out to cheer her up when he used to come. "I like the orange," he finally said, leering at her top-half overdramatically. "You really pull it off."

She rolled her eyes, biting her lip for a moment. "Yeah, they offered me blue but I thought, hey, why break tradition? I really blend in this way... It's very _in_ this season."

He snorted, smiling in a way that made the sides of his eyes crinkle adorably. She wished she could reach out, touch his face just for a second. Feel the warmth there, the shade of whiskers over his chin, touch those freckles that took all the hard hunter's edge from him. "So how's the digs? Your put up pictures on the cell walls or what?"

She shook her head. "Nope. Bambi, that's my celly, she doesn't really like visual aids." She frowned. "Brings back memories..."

His brow furrowed before he chuckled. "Bambi?"

"Yeah." She smiled. "She's a real character."

"With a name like that, how couldn't she be?"

Chloe ran a hand through her hair, leaning forward slightly. "What are you doing here?" she asked, voice quiet, hesitant.

"What? I can't come see my wife?" He lifted a brow.

She nearly smiled, but suppressed it. "We've been _separated_ for awhile now, Dean." Her eyes widened slightly to emphasize her meaning. "I thought I made it clear, I didn't want to see anyone."

He leaned forward. "Oh you made it clear, sweetheart. Crystal. But, see, I'm feeling a little like your judgment ain't all that straight right now." He shrugged a shoulder. "Call me crazy, but you've been in here awhile and I think the solitude is startin' to get to ya." He stared at her, eyes hard and serious. "So I'm gonna make myself clear..." He licked his lips. "I'm not goin' anywhere." She swallowed tightly, not daring to look away but refusing to let her dim light of hope get any brighter. "We're in this together, all right?" He nodded abruptly, decisively. "We'll get you outta this. I promise."

This time she didn't bother blinking away the tears and let one dribble down her cheek. She smiled, trying to cover the pain and fear there, the broken mess that came out. She wiped at it roughly, turning her eyes upward and wishing she hadn't let him see that. He never handled those things well.

He leaned forward, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "Hey," he called.

She sniffled, biting down on her lip so she wouldn't let out a sob that clogged her throat. She stared at him through damp eyes, wishing she could just believe him. He'd never lied to her before.

"I promise you," he said, his tone so final, so serious. He reached out, his hands touching just the bottom of the glass, fingers spread out. And her hand fell, arm spreading along the cool, steel table in front of her. She pressed her fingers against his, but couldn't feel the heat through the glass, not like how she wanted to. She stared down, wishing she could take his hands, let it swamp hers, so large and calloused and warm.

And then her gaze fell to the orange sleeve of her jumpsuit and reality settled back in. She lifted her head, looked back at him and shook her head. "You shouldn't... You should just-"

"Cut it out," he interrupted, shaking his head. "Don't pull that emo crap like Sammy." He frowned. "I got here as soon as I could and we're gonna figure this all out, all right?" He didn't wait for her to answer. "In the meantime, you just pick your fights carefully and wait." He nodded toward the guard who stood not so far away and she almost laughed as a ten pack of cigarettes was dropped in front of her. He grinned, eyes filling with something akin to pride. "Gotta keep my girl on top, right? Can't let you sit at the bottom of the food chain." He winked.

"Times up, Sully," Al called out, shrugging to her with the closest thing to an apology she was going to get.

She sighed, turning back to stare at her ‘husband.' "I have to go," she murmured.

He nodded, clearing his throat. "I'll be back," he assured.

"You don't have t-" She stopped at the lock he was giving her and then nodded. "All right."

He licked his lips, looking away and then back, torn over what was obviously an emotional issue. "You're okay?" he finally asked.

She glanced down and then back up. "I'm not not-okay."

He smiled slightly, shaking his head as if reminiscing over how it was a very _her_ thing to say. "Good." His jaw twitched. "You know... Cause Sammy was worried."

She smiled, nodding. "I'm sure he was."

He shrugged, non-commitally. "And I mighta been... A little."

She stared at him, seeing that flickering of emotion that he tried to hide behind the bad-ass hunter visage. "I know."

He coughed, wiping at something invisible on his mouth and nodded jerkily.

Al stepped up behind her and she knew she had to hang up, had to walk away.

She nodded up at the guard before looking over at Dean once more. And for the first time in the three and a half months she'd been in jail, she actually didn't want the person on the other end to go. She didn't want to watch them leave or hang up the phone or stop hearing their voice. Maybe because he was promising to do something; he was giving her his word that he was going to get her out. All the others had apologized, had told her that it wasn't right she was there, that something would happen to get her free, it had to. But they made no reassurances that it would come from them and she said she understood that, made herself believe she did. But now that he was there, saying he'd do whatever it took, she realized she'd been waiting for that. For somebody to say, "I got you. You're okay. Don't worry, you're gonna get out of this."

"Goodbye Dean," she said into the phone.

"I'll see ya soon," he replied, staring at her intently.

She nodded understandingly and hung up the phone.

He stood as she did, watching as Al took her arm, pulled her back from the booth and turned her toward the door leading back into the main prison. She looked over her shoulder, unable to resist the temptation to see him just a second longer. And he was still there, watching after her. He mouthed two words and she smiled sadly. _I promise_. A Winchester's word was as good as gold, she thought as she turned back. Maybe she really was going to get out. As unlawful as it may be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Winchester's word was as good as gold and if Dean promised to free her, he would. 

**II**.

Leaving her like that went against all of his better judgment. He'd seen that look before but it was in people being chased or haunted by some bad sons ‘o bitches. Her... She didn't scare easily; took a lot to get her to the point where she was pleading with her eyes. But when she was staring back at him, she looked ready to beg and that just didn't sit right with him. So he did the only thing he could; reminded her that he _promised_ and hoped she accepted that as truth. Because he meant it; with all of himself. There was no way he letting her rot in there. And it surprised him just how much she lit up at those words; at how much she obviously put stock into him. But as soon as she was gone, around that corner, the flare of her orange jumpsuit gone, he scowled darkly.

The drive back wasn't long; he hit the accelerator and rode his baby hard the entire drive to the Motel. He was angry,  pissed, and he wanted something done immediately. He didn't like sitting still when he knew somebody needed him. And the fact that it was _her_ just made it worse. He knew of a handful of people that _should_ be doing something to get her out and he knew now that they weren't. He didn't know why; maybe politics for the General and that Senator friend of hers. Probably secrecy for the League and Clark. There wasn't much Lois _could_ do, but then she was tenacious enough she might just climb the fence and try and break her out old-style, either that or she was liable to get herself thrown in just to be close to her cousin.

But in the end, Chloe was alone, with only him and his brother to try and get her free. She wasn't dumb; she knew anything they did would be illegal and so she must be desperate to just put her life in his hands. He didn't know what was going on in that prison, but he could see her spirit slowly dimming. She was ready to lay down arms, throw up the white flag, and say "I give," and he couldn't let her do that. Wouldn't.

When he finally parked outside the Motel door, he sat in his car a second, trying to stop the rage from boiling over. He wanted to hit somebody or throw something, he just plain needed to yell. At who? The world, probably. Because it was too damn good at fucking over the good people.

Sam sat up quickly when he walked in, closing the door behind him hard enough to be just short of slamming it. "So?" he asked anxiously.

"She's in there," he said roughly, shrugging off his leather jacket and tossing it to a chair before he sat down on the end of his bed.

Sam nodded, running a hand through his hair. "And? How does she look? Is she okay?"

"She looks like she was left high and dry in a prison for three and a half months," he growled, running his hands over his face.

"I checked the records..." Sam sighed. "She hasn't had a visitor in a month."

"Yeah, I figured. She let me know she'd sort of turned ‘em all away." He shrugged, shaking his head. "She's not expecting help. Gave up already." He sighed, frowning darkly. "We're getting her out of there."

"I know." Sam stared at him almost worriedly. "Dean..."

"What?"

"Even if we get her out... She can't go back to her life... She's a fugitive." He shook his head. "I've looked at this from a lawyer's point of view and... well... She's screwed." He frowned sadly. "We get her out... She's gonna have to go underground."

He looked away. "Yeah, well, maybe her League or whatever ‘ll take care of her." Not that they deserved to have her after what they did. Hell, he could see _why_. Superheroes need to keep themselves hidden and all that bull. But if it was Sam in there or Bobby or even Ellen, he'd have them out, whether or not it meant letting the world know he was alive (again) or getting his ass thrown in there next to them. He wasn't the kinda guy who turned his back on someone in need and he _thought_ the kinda people she worked with weren't either. But apparently, they weren't.

"But you don't want that, do you?" Sam asked in that overly-soft, "time to share" voice of his.

"What is this, Dr. Phil time?" Dean shot back, sneering. "Look, we get her out; that it's. She can do whatever the hell she wants after that."

He nodded. "Okay... I just... I know how much you care for her and--"

"Sammy," he interrupted, staring at him darkly. "Leave it alone, man. Just... _Don't_ , all right?"

Sighing, he nodded.

They were quiet for a moment before finally Dean sighed impatiently. "So what are our options?"

"Well..." Sam let out a heavy breath. "We keep up the husband angle a little while and soon enough, you can put in for a conjugal visit without it looking too weird."

Dean's brows rose dramatically and he smirked, tipping his head to the side. "Conjugal... Like the sound of that."

His brother thinned his eyes, unamused. "Whatever," he muttered. "With a little help from Deacon, we might just be able to get her out that way."

"Deacon?" His brows furrowed. "What's he doing here? I thought he was still over there at, uh, Green River?"

"No," Sam shook his head. "After our great escape, he got transferred. Hendrickson," was all he said to elaborate. "He's working in the same prison as Chloe, but a different cell block. I gave him a call, he said he doesn't often work the conjugal scene because it's, well, a _woman's_ prison. But..." He lifted his shoulder. "He has a good background on him and he might be able to get over there."

"Might? We need a little more than that, Sammy."

"He's working on it." Sam sighed, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees. "We can't do much. We just have to wait this one out."

Dean muttered something under his breath before standing up and nearly stomping over to the table, grabbing up his coat.

"Where are you going?" Sam called after him.

"Out," Dean replied heavily before leaving with a slam of the door that rattled the poorly painted pictures on the wall.

After climbing into his Impala, Dean tore out of the parking lot and made his way over to the nearest bar. He was tired and angry and he felt like cheating a few of the locals out of their hard earned cash. He ordered a beer and leaned against the bar, watching as a couple guys squared off on the only table in the joint. He waited his turn, biding his time, all the while thinking to himself that this hadn't been the first thing that came to mind when he'd been resurrected from hell.  
  
Sam hadn't done any explaining, just saying that he was out and he should be happy for it. After what he'd been through and what he saw, he wasn't sure what to do with himself. So he looked up someone in hopes that they might just help him get through all his shit. Only to find she'd been hauled off to prison under FBI suspicion. He nearly laughed, cynical and deep. Of _course_ she was in jail. How could she not be? With their luck, separated or together, something always had to go wrong.

He and Chloe had an odd relationship, that couldn't even really be called a _relationship_ , per se. They met awhile back while he was on a hunt and she was doing a little digging, whether it for the League she worked for or her own journalistic tendencies, he never found out. But for a few weeks, she shadowed them and while he pretended to be annoyed by her interest in the job, he'd really liked having her along for the ride. Eventually though, she had to get back to her life and they had to continue on in their own. They kept up through phone calls that were, more often then not, just a bunch of strange phone messages left on each other's cells.

He wasn't gonna lie; she'd woken something up in him when he first met her and that feeling never really faded. There was something in that big Sullivan grin of hers and the intensity of her eyes; just got him all wound up. And not in a bad way. She got him, in a way he never expected any woman to really manage. She had her girly moments, almost as bad as Sammy did, but in the end, she was pretty much the coolest chick he ever knew. And that didn't bode well. ‘Cause crap like this always ended up happening to anybody he got close to and sooner or later, even if they did get her outta this scrape, their luck was really gonna run out.

He'd get her free, he decided. Whatever it took. And then he'd move on and she'd move on and they'd just go back to how they were. With phone tag and missed calls, that weird little smile he got whenever he heard her voice and sexual tension thick enough to cut with a knife every time they were face to face. It was how it had to be, ‘cause he wasn't gonna get her killed. He had a big enough body bag count behind him as it was and he'd be damned sure she wasn't ever part of it.

He heard a cheer from the pool table and looked up to see that the game was over. He stood up, lifting his chin. It was time to take his mind off all things Chloe-related and just pretend, for a second, that he didn't want a whole lot more than just a ‘thank you and goodbye' from the charismatic blonde. He'd get over it; he always did.


	3. sarcastic_fina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Winchester's word was as good as gold and if Dean promised to free her, he would. 

**III**.

Chloe wasn't sure he'd come back. She went through fits of trust and disbelief. She didn't want to get her hopes up but at the same time, she _knew_ him. He was stubborn and if he told her he was going to get her out, he would. So when he showed up three days later, it was with mixed emotions that she went to meet him. She was well aware that all meetings were recorded and he wasn't the most unknown of criminals wanted by the FBI. But he still showed up, took a seat on the other end, somehow managing to look completely at ease with the situation and picked up the phone connected to hers with a slight smirk.

"Morning sweetheart, how'd you sleep?" he asked, tone light and verging on sarcastic.

She snorted. "Like my bed was made of three inches of discomfort." She batted her eyes mockingly. "And you, _sweetheart_?'

He grinned. "Like a baby." He tipped his head. "So... Have you been playing nice with the other criminals or, uh, do I need to punish you?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

She nearly laughed, instead shaking her head at his antics. "Phone sex? Really? Under these circumstances?"

"Baby, I'm a man with needs and you've been in here three and a half months."

She felt her cheeks heat up and wondered if he was really such a good actor that he could make the heat in his eyes look real. "Well, _baby_ , you're gonna have to work that hand a little longer, because I don't know when I'm getting out."

He shrugged. "Fine... But a couple more weeks and I don't know if my hand'll hold up."

She nodded, just barely, recognizing his interesting way of passing on information. A couple weeks; that's all that was left before she was going to be busted out of jail. "A couple weeks isn't bad. You keep whining and even when I do get out, I'm not gonna relieve _any_ of that built up tension."

He whistled, eyes thinning. "Now don't tease, darling. I can only take so much."

She snickered. "Yeah, you're real vulnerable deep down."

He grinned, nodding. "Damn straight."

She shook her head, feeling just a little more comforted. "How's Sam?" she asked, voice a little more serious.

He shrugged, glancing away. "He's Sam, you know him."

She smiled lightly. "He's being logical then."

Dean snorted, eyes falling. "Yeah..."

"Maybe you should listen to him more often."

"Maybe you and he should take your girlie talk-show on the road," he suggested, eyes wide with mocking.

She chuckled. "Our contract is up in the air, but as soon as we're promised our own bus with our giant faces painted on the side, we'll be _everywhere_."

He laughed, shaking his head at her.

It felt good; to banter and snark and hold a normal conversation. She almost forgot where she was and why their conversation was through four inches of bullet proof fiberglass. He could take her mind off anything if he tried and he was giving it his all with an easy going grin. Their meeting was short but while it was happening, she got so enveloped in that deep voice of his that time seemed irrelevant, up until Al was telling her it was time to go and then her smile was fading and she was stepping away, staring back at him wistfully.

He never left before her; always watched as she went. The opposite of all the rest, who turned away so they didn't have to see their friend get dragged away, looking like the prisoner she was. But he stared at her head on, didn't even flinch, just a promise in his eyes and a tenacity that she knew would get her out of there. She knew Sam was coming up with something logical, some big plan to get her out before the alarms went off and anybody even noticed her missing. But she could see in the set of Dean's jaw that if it was up to him, he'd walk in packed to the nines, blow away whoever got in his way and just walk her right out that second. She smiled. It was more than she got from the others and she appreciated it more than he could ever understand.

She lived on that; that promise in his eyes and the ferocity in the set of his shoulders. Her resolve to just let things be shattered and hope built up in her chest, ready to blind anybody who tried to drag her down. She might not have the political figureheads or the superheroes at her back, but she had a hunter on a rampage and that was just as good. Because in the end she didn't have to worry about red tape or crooked judges, she didn't have to wonder if Lex had paid off the jury or if her lawyer was going to screw her over in the end. She was getting out and it wouldn't be through the front doors, but she'd be climbing into a '67 Impala and that made up for it easy.  



	4. sarcastic_fina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Winchester's word was as good as gold and if Dean promised to free her, he would. 

  
  
**IV**.

"Deacon's been moved over. He's not working Chloe's block, but he's close. He's working a few shifts of the conjugal trailers too, so it won't look too weird when you put in for one with her," Sam informed him as he sat on his bed, flicking through channels unseeingly. "Dean? You hear me?"

"Deacon's where he needs to be. I get it," he muttered, nodding.

Sam sighed, mumbling something under his breath.

"Care to share, Sammy or are you gonna pout _all_ day?" Dean snarked, looking over to his brother, glowering.

" _I'm_ not the one _pouting_ ," Sam replied, brows lifted with emphasis.

He scoffed, shaking his head and turning back to the TV. "Whatever man."

Shuffling his papers around, Sam stood up and made his way to the laptop set up on the Motel table. "Have you considered what might happen if our plan doesn't work out?" he finally asked, voice quiet. "If you guys get caught in there?"

"Yeah, I have, and it's worth it." His tone was stiff, brooking no argument.

"Worth it?" Sam looked over at him, frowning. "Dean, if they catch you... That's it... They'll put you in a maximum holding cell. With your past, your history of escape, they won't leave room for mistakes." He sighed, turning in his chair and leaning forward onto his knees. "I know... I know how much she matters to you. She matters to me too. She's..." He laughed lightly, quietly. "She's Chloe." He smiled sadly. "But if you go in there and this goes sour, she's going to get more time, you'll be locked away, and who know what will happen to Deacon!" He stared at him searchingly, for some kind of sign that he was doubting this.

"I know." Dean's jaw twitched. "And like I said..." He flicked the channel. "It's worth it."

He refused to look at him and Sam finally gave up, turning back to his work. Either there was no getting through to him, or Dean really did think she was worth a death sentence. Sam knew his brother was stubborn, but stupid was a relative term and he rarely let anything contradict his hunter's instinct. So if he really thought she was worth going to prison for, if he was willing to lay it all on the line for her, then Sam had no choice but to back him up. And he would; to the very last second.

* * *

For two and a half weeks, she spent each day wondering if she'd see him. If today was the day he'd show up or if she'd have to wait another 24 hours. The days she didn't see him felt more dismal than before. The yard was darker and she could see the woman from down the block looking at her like fresh meat. Boasting and laughing, motioning to her like she was an ignorant little pig with no idea she was going to be served up for Christmas dinner. But she did; she knew what was coming and she decided she was ready. She didn't tell Dean about her, because she knew that if he saw she was even the least bit afraid, he'd move up his plans to break her out. And as much as she wanted out, she knew that if Sam saw a three week deadline, that meant that everything took that long for a reason. He was the logical brother, the one who made up the more intricate plans, the type of escape that wasn't going to get her killed or caught. And they only had one go at this so she wasn't rushing it.

Bambi was playing solitaire on the floor in front of her, growling under her breath each time she got stumped. Chloe diligently read from her book, trying to block out everything else. The deafening clang of cell doors, the raucous laughter of the other inmates, the squeaking of poorly made runners on cement floor. She barely moved, just so she wouldn't have to hear the squeal of bedsprings beneath her. She breathed steadily, kept her eyes on the words in front of her, turned the page every few minutes, and just pretended she was at home, lying on her couch, surrounded with the scent of hot coffee and a cool breeze filtering through the window.

"You gonna just let her gut ya or what?" Bambi's harsh voice entered her bubble of denial.

She looked over at the woman with a frown. "Who?"

She snorted, looking over at with a lifted brow. "Come on, blondie. You know who. Butch down the row doesn't like you, hasn't since you got here. Who knows why, maybe ‘cause you're prettier than her." She shrugged indifferently. "Point is, she's gonna have your liver on a stick if you don't do something soon."

"Yeah? And what am I supposed to do?" Chloe asked, sitting up and putting her book away, page kept for later. "She's twice my height and buckets of crazy, not to mention she has some kind of vendetta against me." She shook her head.

Bambi stood up, her orange jumpsuit tied at her waist and the faded white tank top looking far less feminine than it might on someone more like her. She dug around under her thin mattress and came out with four tools, one tooth brush, two hair brushes, and what looked like a chicken bone; all of them were sawed off at one end to deadly points. "Take your pick, girl. They ain't gonna bite ‘cha."

Chloe bit her lip in indecision. A shank? Really? That wasn't very practical in the grand scheme. If it was found, she was tossed into solitary and she _really_ didn't want to miss out on a visit from Dean. It was that logic that reminded her she was being sidetracked from the grand scheme of things. Him visiting her was part of the process, to make it look legit before whatever it was they were planning. She should be focused on trying to figure out just how they were going to break her out rather than seeing his handsome face and hearing that sarcastic drawl of his. She reached out with a hesitant hand, picking up the toothbrush and turning it over in her hand, brows furrowed.

"Right, so you never used one, huh? Just thrust up with your all your might," Bambi told her, showing her with a powerful uppercut to the air. "Gut her deep, twist it around, and then pull back and get your ass outta there, blondie," she told her, nodding, a sadistic glint in her eye. "They ain't never gonna touch you after that one. You put that bitch out and you're gold." Her breathing picked up with her glee and Chloe feared that if she did, if she ‘gutted' this woman who had it out for her, would she one day become another version of Bambi? If Dean didn't get her out, was that her fate? She swallowed tightly, mumbling a thank you that her cell mate ignored in favor of collapsing back to the floor to get back to her game.

Chloe turned over on her side, stared at the cold cement wall and hid her shank under her pillow. She felt her eyes sting and her throat tighten with emotion. She couldn't stay here; she just _couldn't_.


	5. sarcastic_fina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Winchester's word was as good as gold and if Dean promised to free her, he would. 

  
  
**V**.

Their time was nearly up. Just another four days and he'd have her out of there. He sat impatiently at the booth, waiting for the guard to bring her in. He hadn't seen her for nearly five days. He hadn't meant to be away for so long, but they were roped into a hunt just outside of town and when Bobby called, it was urgent. Their plans for getting Chloe out were still in the works, but they couldn't ignore the murders going on and they solved it as quick as they could. He made sure to go in and see her the very next day and when she arrived, she looked more haggard than usual. Her eyes were dim, her hair disheveled and her smile nowhere to be seen. She fell into her seat, picking up the phone and leaning her head to the side, holding it up with her hand.

Dean frowned worriedly, holding his own phone up. "You okay?" He looked her over, she wasn't hurt but she looked drained.

"Long few days," she replied, trying to smile at him reassuringly. She wiped at her eyes and sighed. "Tell me what you've been doing," she asked almost meekly.

"Me and Sammy were, uh, hunting. You know... The right season for it. Trip was longer than I expected." He shrugged, glancing away. "Caught ourselves a couple deer we were tracking." He leaned forward, staring at her with concern. "You're sure you're all right? You're lookin' a little pale."

She nodded. "Haven't slept much." She licked her lips. "You talked to my lawyer?"

He nodded. "Yeah, he says he should be able to come in and see you in four of five days." He saw the relief in her face and felt bad for making her stay any longer than what she'd already been in.

She lifted her head, a little color coming back to her face. "Good," she whispered softly.

He nodded. "So... You been using those smokes I got you?"

She grinned. "I had the best steak I've ever had in my life a few days ago thanks to those things," she told him, sighing thankfully. "Plus I used them in a poker game and doubled my winnings." She smirked.

"That's my girl," he said, nodding proudly.

She chuckled, but it was cut short as a whistling sound could be heard and a slim brunette walked in, smirking down at Chloe darkly. She ran her fingers over Chloe's hair, purposely aggravating her and laughing as Chloe pulled away, expression darkening. The brunette looked up, eyes boring into him with an odd mixture of lust and hatred. She licked her lips, blew him a kiss, and then walked off with a cackling laugh that made his skin crawl.

"Who's that?" he asked, watching as Chloe stared after the woman, a mixture of fear and loathing in her face. "Chloe!" he half-shouted, drawing her attention back.

"Nobody," she replied and the finality in her tone forced him to drop the subject. She bit her lip for a moment in thought and then looked back up at him, a whole lot more awake. "Have you talked to anybody else?" she wondered, lifting a brow. "Any of the _others_?"

He shook his head, mouth tightening. "Didn't exactly have their number and wasn't sure what to say." He shook his head. "Why? You think that boy-toy of yours is gonna wanna wait it out while the lawyers figure this crap out?"

She smiled bitterly. "The boy-toy is long gone," she replied. "Couldn't take the heat."

While some part of him was happy to know that she had no guy waiting for her when she got out, the rest of him was angry that the creep could walk away from her, especially given the situation. "Good," he said, lips curving with a smirk. "We can end this separation then." He nodded. "I'll put in for a little conjugal visit to spice up our marriage."

Her eyes widened slightly and he nearly laughed.

"Never done it in a prison trailer before," he said thoughtfully. "New experience." He winked. "You know how much I love variety."

She snorted, shaking her head. "Sure know how to make a girl feel loved," she muttered.

He lifted a brow. "And I figured we were past all the sweet words." He sighed, crossing his arm over his chest. "I'll shower you with ‘em as soon as I got your clothes off." He winked and if he wasn't mistaken, her eyes darkened with the promise. He leaned forward, smirking slightly. "Make sure you know just how much I care when I'm touching you, everywhere." She licked her lips. "Slide my hands up your thighs, make you feel like a woman again." He swore he heard her whimper. He felt his stomach clench up and his jeans were getting a little too tight. "Take your hard and fast and fast the first time. Slow it down for the second. Mix it up a little the third." Her eyes drooped to half mass and he felt his own breathing pick up, his mind going through visions of her arched up into him, beautifully naked and writhing to meet his hands and his hardness.

"All right, all right," came a barking voice and Dean was surprised to look up at see Deacon staring at him. "Break it up," he told them loudly.

Dean realized they'd both been leaning in. Chloe was flushed, her chest heaving slightly, hand reached out across the table, fingers pressed up tight to the glass, as if reaching for him longingly.

Clearing his throat, he forced himself to sit back and calm his hormones. He looked over at her, smiling slightly at how embarrassed she looked.

"Time's up," Deacon announced and Dean frowned, nodding.

Chloe smiled at him gently. "You just make sure my lawyers show up," she told him. "Soon as I get outta here, I guarantee a reward."

His brows lifted and he smiled goofily at her smirk. She winked at him before walking away and he stared after her, feeling good about the sway of her hips and the renewed light in her eyes. She was feeling more like herself and that well worth all this bullshit waiting and planning. Sooner he got her out, the better. He was going crazy waiting.

* * *

Somehow she figured telling the woman she didn't want any trouble was only going to make things worse. Liz, or Butch as Bambi called her, was looking ready to tear her head off and Chloe figured it was about time. It'd been building up since she got there and hit a peak the day before when she'd stopped in to rattle her during her visit with Dean. For three days before that, she'd been yelling to her all through the night. "I'm comin' for ya, girlie," she'd shout, laughing high and maniacal. "Gonna see what your heart looks like outside yer body, bitch!" Chloe had tried to tune her out, tossing and turning in her bed, but she just wouldn't shut up. For hours, she'd just keep yelling to her. "You're taking yer last breaths! You better savor ‘em." Even after she'd finally give up, some time around three or four, Chloe couldn't close her eyes, couldn't get any sleep. She was exhausted and jumpy and she hadn't seen Dean for five days, which worried her. So seeing him again was a respite well welcomed, until Liz stopped in to remind her that she just couldn't get away.

And that night had been the last straw. "Soon as yer dead, I'm gonna stop in and see that beautiful man o' yers. Let him see what a real woman's like!" she yelled down the row to her. "He's gonna forget ya before yer even cold!" She laughed, high and grating.

"Enough," Chloe yelled back. "He wouldn't touch you, you dirty skank!" She ran a hand through her tangled hair, fed up and tired. "You want me, Butch. You come get me. I dare you! I _dare_ you!" she screamed, slamming her hands against the bars.

There was no answer, but as soon as the words left her mouth she knew Liz got exactly what she wanted; an invitation. She was too tired to care though and slumped back to bed, falling into a deep sleep only to be woken up for breakfast by Bambi. She felt a little more rested, a little clearer than she had been the last four days. But she remembered quickly that Liz wasn't going to let her forget, wasn't going to let her walk away unscathed.

It hit its boiling point in the yard. She'd been sitting with Bambi, who was in a serious game of Blackjack with Jennifer, a woman with turrets and a fascination with performing surgery on cadavers.

She heard the stomping feet and the snickering, the whispers that said a fight was coming and knew immediately, she'd be participating. Her heart sped up and her stomach rolled. Some part of her wished she could run and the rest of her thought it was time to face it, to get it over with. Hey, if she didn't live, it saved Dean from trying to rescue her, meaning there was less chance of him being caught and thrown into prison or given the death penalty. She wasn't unaware of how much he was risking to help her and while she appreciated his help, she knew the rest of the world needed him more than she did.

She stood up, turning her head toward Liz with a resolved expression. She hopped down from the steps she'd been sitting on, felt the shank in her pocket and eyed up her opponent, who was grinning at her excitedly. She wasn't a big woman. In fact, if they weren't in prison, she'd probably be drop dead gorgeous; Dean's type easy. But Chloe had heard about Liz, she wasn't your average robber or drug dealer. Three murders, one of them her husband, and she wasn't what anybody would call nice.

"You ready to play, baby?" she asked, lifting a brow and staring at her from beneath long, black lashes.

Chloe sighed. "Bring it on, bitch," she said simply.

* * *

"What do you mean she can't see me?" Dean demanded, face shadowed fiercely as he stood at the gate leading to the visitation area. "Why the hell not?"

"She's being detained for fighting," the guard told him, a man he knew as Al from Chloe's stories. The large man lifted a shoulder. "She won't be out for a couple days yet."

"A couple days," he repeated, licking his lips and turning away. His foot tapped impatiently. Fighting? Didn't he tell her to lay low? This was probably the worst time for her to pull this stunt. They only had three days and she needed to be out and able to get into that trailer or their plan wasn't going anywhere. He ground his teeth together, admitting to himself that beyond his aggravation over her being detained, he was more worried than anything. Just how big was this fight? Was she hurt? She was a small woman but she packed one helluva punch, he knew that. But these weren't regular people, they were convicts. Hardened and fucked up, ready to kill if need be. Finally, he gathered up his courage and looked at the big guy in front of him, arms crossed and a scowl in place. "She okay?"

Al's mouth ticked at the side slightly. "Better than the girl who went after her."

He couldn't help it; he grinned proudly. That's his girl! He nodded and then turned, walking away frustrated and still a little worried. He knew her though and as long as she was okay, that was all that mattered. He figured it must've been the brunette that was hassling her the day before. Probably why she'd been so jumpy and tired too. He scowled. He hoped the bitch got what was coming to her.


	6. sarcastic_fina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Winchester's word was as good as gold and if Dean promised to free her, he would. 

  
  


**VI**.

Chloe was released two days later and walked into her cell feeling a little more refreshed. Without fear of Butch and the lack of her screaming and antagonizing, she was finally able to get some sleep. Her face was a little beat up and her ribs were sore, but that was nothing compared to the ass kicking she gave the mouthy con. She hadn't used her shank. Refused to. She wouldn't become Bambi or, even worse, Butch. She used her fists and the training she'd worked up over the years; with the League and just plain living her weird life. She'd learned a few moves from Dean and Sam and they came in handy when the woman rammed into her so hard, they both fell to the pavement. She was small, but she was fast, and she made up for any lack of insanity with drive. She wasn't going to go down without a fight; she had a deadline to stick to and she was getting the hell out of Dodge if it was the last thing she did.

So she got the drop on her and before the guards could separate them, Chloe made sure to leave a reminder that she wasn't one to be messed with. She was pretty sure Liz got the message because in the end, she was curled up in a ball and not bothering to fight anymore. Despite her minor injuries, Chloe didn't use her powers. She figured it'd look suspicious if she walked away completely unscathed, so she put up with the pain in her sides and the tenderness around her face. It wasn't as bad as it looked and hey, she kind of felt like it was right of passage. Her first prison fight; Dean would be proud. She nearly laughed at the thought but knowing that it would only make her ribs hurt, she smiled lightly instead.

For two days, Chloe caught up on sleep, at least when she wasn't worried over whether she messed up the plan with Sam and Dean. She knew it was coming up and quick, but she was pretty sure she still had time. He had said four or five days and today was the fourth.

She spent her day like usual but didn't get a visit from her "husband." Al informed her he'd been by and left, worried and angry. Bambi was quick to tell her she was proud to have her as cell mate, seeing as her last one was a "serious pussy." Her words, not Chloe's. During yard time, she noticed Butch was out too, but the woman pointedly stayed out of her way, keeping with her group of women over by the fence. Dinner came and went and while she was on her way back, Al took her off to the side, letting her know that she had a visitor.

She frowned, brows furrowing. "Visiting hours are over," she reminded, shaking her head.

"You're not meeting him in the usual spot," he replied, holding tight to her arm and walking her away from her cell, where Bambi was watching after her curiously.

They bypassed the usual visiting area and stopped near an exit close to the yard. Dawning fell on her and she felt hope surface up. When the door opened, she was met by another guard, a man she'd seen around a few times. He was tall, wide-shouldered, brown hair and a face that said he'd been a guard for too long but he liked his job. He took her from Al, nodding at the other man before walking her off toward the trailers sitting not so far away. They were evenly spaced, with only a couple lights on and one shaking side to side vigorously. She tried not to stare but it was seriously rocking. She noticed the other guard staring at her with a half-smile and a lifted brow and she blushed, turning her head away.

"I'm the only one on duty tonight," he informed her and her brows furrowed at the sudden information. "Shift change is in an hour, we just happen to be understaffed or I'd have someone else working with me. Meaning in forty-five minutes, I'm gonna be distracted bringing the other convict back to her cell." He shrugged, pointedly not looking at her. "You have one hour in this trailer before your time is up and the other guard will come looking for you." They stopped in front of the farthest trailer, the light on and the door closed. He unlocked her cuffs and pocketed them. "Tell the boys I say hi," he said with a slight smile before he pulled the door open and pushed her inside.

She heard it click behind her and then turned around to see Dean sprawled out on a couch, a Playboy in hand. He looked up at her with a grin. "Look, they even give you a little stimulation, just in case."

She snorted, shaking her head at him. She rubbed at her wrists for something to pay attention to, suddenly realizing that over the last three weeks, she'd wanted to be this close, without any barriers, but now that she was, she was almost nervous. He sat up slowly, as if he knew she was skittish, and tossed the dirty mag away. He leaned his elbows on his knees and stared at her a moment before nodding his head, beckoning her closer.

She went, despite how her insides screamed for her to stay away, to keep some distance before she jumped on him. She wanted to touch him and at the same time, she was scared to. She walked across the small trailer slowly, eyes glancing around at the meager surroundings. There was a bed that she didn't really want to think about too much. How many convicts had used that same bed? She inwardly grimaced. There was a table and a threadbare couch and it was nowhere near the type of area she'd be in if she were about to make love to someone she hadn't seen or touched for too long. But then, for some of these women, it was probably the Hilton. And she could understand why, because as she got closer, her insides seemed to melt and a heat pooled between her thighs. God, he looked good.

He stared up at her from hazel eyes that were more green than brown. His hand hooked around one of her thighs and drew her up close until she seemed to collapse into his lap. And then he hugged her, embraced her tightly, arms wrapped around her as if he'd honestly thought he'd never hold her again. She nearly cried from the intensity, burying her face against his shoulder, clutching his shirt beneath her hands, her body shaking against him. He smelled incredible; like the Impala mixed with the road and something distinctly _him_ , all warm and strong and protective. She buried her nose against his neck, just inhaling that great scent and without even thinking about it, she kissed the tanned skin where his neck met his shoulder.

She felt him sigh, deep and heavy and she kissed him again, her lips smoothing over heated flesh, tongue flicking out to taste him. She should stop; should ask him what the plan was, but all she could think was that it felt so good to be held again. By him and those arms that promised to keep her safe and warm. His hands spread out along her back, sliding low, hooking around her hips, pulling her closer. She felt her whole body press up against his, no space to be filled by the thinnest of air. She could feel his heat through her jumpsuit, warming her flesh and deep inside of her.

She kissed up his neck, feverishly now, longingly. She nipped his jaw before tracing up the side of his face and kissing along the shell of his ear, her nose brushing against his hair before nuzzling the skin behind his ear, kissing back down, suckling his neck. He groaned, fingers flexing against her sides. Her hands slowly unfurled from his shirt, sliding up his chest, one hooking around his neck, holding tight, fingers kneading, while the other fell back down, running along his side. She bit his earlobe lightly before kissing along his cheek, feeling the faint scratch of whiskers against her lips. And then he turned his head, those eyes even greener now as he stared at her. She captured his mouth, their lips slanting hotly together, tongues tangling.

It seemed like forever ago when she ran into the hunter; getting into a little trouble of the demonic kind before he and his brother saved her. And back then the attraction she felt toward him had been strong, but her logical mind told her he was not the type of guy she should get entangled with. He seemed to think the same way; making sure that their relationship stayed firmly in the partner area. But as soon as she was gone, she missed his sarcastic charm. His smirk and his lazy drawl, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes and the way he licked his lips in nerve-wracking situations. How he looked at her, so intensely, like he was not only undressing her but trying to figure out how her head worked at the same time.

The heat that flared up between them from their kiss was strong and almost scary in how it seemed to grip her entirely. She knew it'd be good. With lips like his, how could it not be? But she also knew that this was a territory that couldn't be uncrossed. She was there and if she stopped now, maybe she could blame it on a lack of human interaction; a need for touch and feeling. But she couldn't quite force herself to stop kissing him. Even with how her lungs burned for air, she ignored it. He just tasted so good, and his tongue running along the roof of her mouth made her shiver. His teeth nipping her lower lip was intoxicating and how his nose brushed against hers, his whiskered chin grazing hers. She groaned, leaning further into him.

The kiss slowed, becoming more lingering until finally, they parted for the air they'd both ignored. She felt his hand against her face, brushing her hair behind her ear and stroking her cheek. He stared at her a moment, his eyes darkening. "Gotta make it realistic, right?" he panted, staring at her intently before swooping back in and slanting his mouth across hers passionately.

She'd take it; the small _out_ from admitting to any feelings. His hands running over her back and massaging her shoulders were enough to make her forget where they were and why this visit was so much more important than all the others. She felt his finger undo the front of her jumpsuit and she shrugged it away, her head falling back as his lips caressed the flesh revealed. His hand ran down her arm slowly, soothingly, while his mouth kissed along her shoulder, nudging the strap of her tank top out of the way with his nose. She felt so feminine in that moment; unlike how she'd felt in the last four months. He drew her jumpsuit down until it was hanging from her waist and then his hands were lifting her tank top, sliding beneath to caress her flat stomach, fingers feeling so intense against her skin, creating a buzzing sensation everywhere they touched. She ran her fingers through his hair and down his back, gripping his shoulders as he lavished her with his mouth.

She was so caught up in all the sensations that she didn't hear the knock at first. Not until it became a harsh, reminding bang and then she opened her eyes quickly. "Uh... an hour," she sputtered out. "The guard... He said shift change was in an hour and at the forty-five minute mark, he'd be out of sight," she panted, licking her lips.

Dean sat back, nodding jerkily. She climbed out of his lap, falling to sit next to him, trying to catch her breath. Seconds later, the door opened and Sam snuck inside, looking slightly perturbed. He threw his arm up in aggravation and she noticed he was dressed from head to toe in all black, likely to blend in with the night shrouded surroundings. Dean, however, was just wearing his usual jeans and leather jacket. Then again, it might look unusual on the prison cameras if he showed up looking like a bank robber.

"I was banging on that window awhile!" Sam exclaimed.

Dean smirked at him, but it wasn't nearly as goading as usual. "Put some muscle behind it Sammy," he called out, voice a little raspy.

He rolled his eyes. "Well?"

"How long's it been?" he grunted, running a hand over his hair.

"Twenty minutes," he guessed, lifting a shoulder.

"Then we've got twenty five more and then we have to get our asses outta here."

Sam's brow furrowed.

"Deacon told her we had about a fifteen minute window."

"There's another trailer out there being used, but only one," Chloe added.

Sam drew the curtains out of the window and looked over. "I see it. It's not moving."

Her eyes widened, brows lifting for emphasis. "It was definitely moving before."

The younger brother looked back at her, amused. "Well... Since we're the farthest, I'd say Deacon will have to bring those two in at the forty-five minute mark and that's why we'll have the time to run." He sat down across from them; sitting on chair and purposely avoiding touching anywhere near the bed. "The Impala isn't parked far but there are two fences we have to crawl through and the guard tower is heavily armed and not playing around." He crossed his arms with a sigh. "It's cutting it close."

"It'll be fine," Dean said, voice rough.

Chloe shifted around uncomfortably, looking over to Sam who was frowning slightly. "So... How long's it been, Sam?"

His looked up at her with a smile and she was relieved to see that he didn't look nearly as uncomfortable as all her other friends who'd come to see her. And in a conjugal trailer, too. "I think it's been over a year," he said, nodding. "You should visit more," he teased.

She smiled. "I brought it up with Al but he didn't think the judge was going to let me out on a parole just yet."

Sam lifted his shoulder. "'Least you tried."

She chuckled. "Heard you guys went hunting..."

"Yeah... Nothing big, but..." He shrugged. "The usual. Killed it, burned it, moved on."

She licked her lips, glancing down. "I, uh... I don't know how to thank you guys for..."

"Don't thank us ‘til you're out," Sam replied, staring at her with a fond expression. "Besides, you really think we'd leave you in here?"

She felt her eyes well up with tears and tried to shake her head but instead looked down.

She felt Dean's arm slide around her shoulders but when she looked up he wasn't looking at her. She almost laughed. He wasn't good with comforting words, but he could do it just as well physically. She leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed. "It's just been... a long few months."

Sam nodded understandingly.

They sat in silence for a little while with Sam looking out the window every couple minutes, checking to see if Deacon was moving the other prisoner. Chloe melted further into Dean's embrace, feeling his hand massaging her shoulder almost unconsciously. She could tell he was deep in thought; he was staring out a window with slightly thinned eyes and a frown on his face. If it were other circumstances and Sam wasn't right across from them, she might've wrapped her arms around his waist, buried her face against his chest, and just let herself sleep. But instead, she waited for the signal from Sam, trying to psych herself up for the impending prison escape.

It was too late to turn back now, even if her stomach was rolled up into a tight ball and she felt certain that she was going to get caught. It wasn't instincts, just fear, but still. She felt bad for involving them, for forcing them to put their livelihoods on the line. Even if it was what they did on a daily basis; saving people, hunting things, the family business. She might not be in mortal danger from a demon, but she was close enough to a damsel in distress.

"Okay," Sam said, voice low. "They're moving." He glanced back at them and Chloe felt Dean stiffen up, readying himself. "As soon as he gets them inside the building, we move."


	7. sarcastic_fina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Winchester's word was as good as gold and if Dean promised to free her, he would. 

**VII**.

Minutes felt like seconds and then they were standing and she was shrugging her orange jumpsuit back on and following Dean to the door. He opened it slowly, peeking around it to check who might be outside. There was nothing but a dark, empty lot, save for the shadowed and dark trailers lined up in front. He jumped down with her following and Sam behind her. He closed the door and then put a hand on her back to get her attention. He pointed upward to the tower and she watched the light scan back and forth over the yard, keeping vigil over the prison. To get to where they needed to go, there were two fences to get through. One between the trailer lot and the prison yard, and another leading from the prison yard to the field just short of the highway.

She nodded. They crept up closer to the side of the trailer, sliding along the side until they were behind it. Sam pointed to the first fence and if she squinted, she could just make out the part in the chain link, where he'd obviously cut it open just enough for them to get through. Dean made a few motions to his brother, who nodded knowingly while she stood between them, completely in the dark.

"I'll go first," Sam whispered close to her ear. "I can get the car started and bring it back just enough for you two to jump in."

She nodded, but inside she was shaking.

He grinned at her. "We got you, all right?"

She smiled up at him shakily, nodding.

He looked over at Dean and then, timing the light, he raced across the lot, slipping through the fence easily. With just seconds to spare, he ducked behind the stands sitting in the yard and as soon as the light had passed him by, he was running again, to the far chain link confinement. He ducked low, climbed through with the agility of a hunter and looked back only momentarily before he was racing across the field, engulfed by the darkness, hiding him completely from her view.

She looked over to Dean, suddenly scared that he would go next and she'd be too anxious to run. And then she felt his hand in hers. "We're going together," he said, voice rough, final.

Her brows furrowed. "There's not enough time for us both to get through the first fence."

"Then we'll run faster than Sam did." He shrugged. "He runs like a girl anyway."

"I am a girl," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

He chuckled lowly, bending beside the trailer for a moment and looking over at her. "This is easy. Just focus on where we gotta be and get there. Don't think about the light or the prison or any of the guards. I'll get you outta here."

She stared at him, the serious look on his face made her anxiety fade. She nodded.

He squeezed her hand and then stood up slowly. "On three."

She took in a deep breath and let it out heavily.

_One. Two. Three..._

They ran, so quick she was surprised her body could keep up with her feet. She felt the crunch of dirt and rock beneath her shoes and the chilly wind whipping against her face. She didn't look at the building or at where the light was; she just focused on the hole in the fence. And then they were there and he was holding it open for her to climb through, which she did a lot easier than she expected to. She waited, despite how he told her to keep going, and as soon as he was free of the chain link they were both racing toward the stands, ducking low behind them just as the light hit where they'd been half-a-second before. She breathed heavily, her heart beating out of her chest, and they walked along behind the stands carefully. With the spotlight on the other side, he grabbed her hand and started running once more.

The asphalt felt different now than it did every day when she came out to the yard. She felt freedom right in front of her and captivity at her heels. But Dean held onto her tightly, not letting the darkness grab hold of her. They reached the second fence and she nearly tripped, she was so excited. He pulled the fence apart and she ran through, briefly feeling it cut through her jumpsuit and scrape at her skin. But she was too elated to care and within seconds, he was next to her again. They hurried through the high grass of the field and despite being out of the prison confines, she kept waiting for the alarm to go off, the light to turn on them and bullets to start flying. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears and her blood rushing through her rapidly.

Her hand clenched tight around Dean's but he just kept going, kept pulling her along, closer and closer to the highway ahead.

And then she heard it. The low roar that slowly became louder. They knew; the alarm was set off and the light was swinging around wildly, searching for her over the yard and in the parking lot. She waited to feel the heat of it on her back, but then she saw the sleek black lines of the Impala ahead and heard the growl of its engine. She hurried through the backdoor, with Dean climbing into the passenger seat up front and Sam gunning the engine, they took off into the night, the dark drilling of the alarm fading quick behind them.

She wrapped her arms around herself and brought her knees up to her chest, sitting low in the backseat, trying to blend into the upholstery. But her bright orange jumpsuit was too vivid against the black. And the next thing she knew, she was unbuttoning it and pulling it down her shoulders. She shimmied her hips out of it and pushed it down her legs until she was sitting in nothing but plain white panties and a tank top that felt soaked through with sweat. Dean glanced back at her, turned away, and then looked back with wide eyes.

"We got you some clothes," he managed to say, motioning toward the bag on the floor. He cleared his throat, not sure how to respond to her lack of apparel. He grabbed the jumpsuit before she could toss it out the window like she wanted to. She never wanted to see orange again. "You throw it now, they'll know what direction we went in," he said, taking it from her and stuffing it beneath the seat. "We'll burn it as soon as we're far enough way."

She kinda liked that idea so she nodded. She picked up the bag from the floor and pulled the zipper open, looking through the clothes they'd brought her. Nothing was what she'd usually wear, but then she couldn't imagine either of them shopping for modern women's clothes. Dean holding up some skirt and asking Sam if it was the right size was just too comical. There were women's sweatpants and shorts, a couple t-shirts that were obviously Dean's choice as they had Zeppelin and Metallica emblazoned on them. Some undergarments that were lacier than she expected, but incredibly refreshing compared to the large white no-name crap she'd been wearing for four months too many. There was deodorant, a brush, toothpaste and a toothbrush as well. It was like her own personal heaven and she quickly pulled out what she wanted.

She tugged her prison-awarded tank top off and tossed it away without modesty, but smiled slightly as Dean turned away from her, putting his eyes back on the road. She heard Sam clear his throat and knew he wouldn't be looking in the rear-view mirror for awhile. The two bothers shifted around a little, uncomfortably, before finally Dean reached over and turned on the radio.

 _I... will be watching over you_  
_I... am gonna help you see it through_  
_I... will protect you in the night_  
_I... am smiling next to you...in silent lucidity_

She pulled on the lace panties, feeling more girlie by the second. And because it was rather chilly, she put on the grey sweatpants and couldn't wait for when she could go shopping and get something a little more form fitting. She put deodorant on aplenty and then pulled the Metallica shirt over her head. Feeling a little less like an escapee, she brushed her hair, happy to get the tangles out. She'd have to wait to brush her teeth, but she was just happy to be out of her prison clothes. She wiggled her toes in the socks they picked up; they were striped with various colors and didn't go with the rest of her outfit but they felt like a small bit of freedom and she loved them for it. She curled up on her side, lying in the backseat, now feeling a little less like a moving target. She didn't fall asleep, but she listened to the rumble of car as it drove past city limits, road the highway hard and fast, and took her farther and farther away from the place she so loathed. She didn't want to think about consequences or what she was going to do, she just wanted to listen to the Impala purr; it was a sound that far outweighed anything she ever heard in jail.

She was free! There was nothing more incredible.


	8. sarcastic_fina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Winchester's word was as good as gold and if Dean promised to free her, he would. 

  


**VIII**.

A whole day passed before she finally asked for one of their cell phones. She had to let somebody know she was okay; she couldn't let them sit in wait. She spent an hour thinking about who she should call. Her lunch, a drive-thru burger and cold fries, was sitting next to her, but her stomach was tied up in knots and she wasn't sure she could get anything down. Finally, she dialed a familiar number and waited for the ringing to stop, some part of her hoping she'd get the answering machine.

"Hello?" came the half-harsh, half worried voice of her cousin.

"Lois Lane?" she asked, pointedly keeping her voice professional.

There was a pause. "Yes. Who's this?"

It was harder than she thought; hearing her and not just spilling the whole story. But she kept up the façade; it was best for both of them.

"I'm Mrs. Bly, I'm from the records office. It says here that you were on a rental contact with a Ms. Sullivan?"

"Yes," she murmured.

"It's come to my knowledge that she's no longer living at the residence, is that right?" She really hoped she caught on.

Lois cleared her throat. "No. She was pointlessly locked away... I don't know when I'll see her again." The question was thinly veiled.

"I see... Well... It's only a precaution, but if Ms. Sullivan won't _ever_ return, we'll need you to come in and sign a lease for singular occupancy."

 _I'm so sorry_ , she thought. Lois was one of those people that got close to people only to lose them or be rejected or feel like they weren't loved back. She and the General were one big case of that. In the last few years, she and Lois were so close, tight as sisters, and now she felt like she was abandoning her.

There was a sniffle. "I understand."

"It's only... It's procedure," she said, quieter than before. Maybe _one day_... Maybe... she could return.

"I know. I get it. I just... Didn't want to admit y-... _she_ wouldn't be coming back, I guess."

Chloe felt tears well in her eyes but closed them, forcing the emotion from her voice. "I'm sure this must be hard for you... and her."

She grunted before sighing suddenly. "Yeah, well, she left dirty towels everywhere anyway." She laughed stiffly. "And to tell you the truth... I was sick of coffee. Sick of it! And it's all she drank. So... you know... good riddance, right?"

Chloe smiled slightly. "Right."

"Long as she's _okay_...?"

She nodded, even though she couldn't see her. "I'm sure she is."

"Then that's all that matters." Her voice was so final. And it was comforting to know that despite the fact that Lois was unable to get her out, she cared enough to know that even if she didn't have her cousin within reach, all that mattered was her safety.

"Of course." Chloe cleared her throat. "Well... Thank you for your time."

"That's all? There's... There's nothing else you need to ask?" She sounded so hopeful.

"No... Sorry for the inconvenience. I have a couple more calls to make today and very little time to do it. Thank you for your... understanding."

"Yeah, sure..." There was a pause and then, "Goodbye." So soft and fragile, unlike the Lois Chloe knew.

She wished she could say all the things she needed to say. That she was sorry for putting her through this, for leaving her behind like this. But she couldn't, because it was likely the phones were tapped and it was time to go. She knew it had to be done. "Goodbye, Miss Lane."

She hung up, feeling her heart clench tightly in her chest. That was one of the hardest things she'd ever had to do; she felt like she'd just turned her back on her sister. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart clench; ready to break. Why did it always come to this? Near deaths and fake deaths and being on the run? Why couldn't she live her life the way she wanted? Okay, so she had a tendency of getting in the way of some really bad people, but they _deserved_ to be in jail. Not like _her_. She had done everything in her power to help- no, to _save_ \- the world! And where had it gotten her? In an orange jumpsuit, with a cellmate named **Bambi**! It got her three meals, all worse than the last, shared showers, fights with unstable women out to make her life even more of hell on earth, the loss of her friends, her family, and a whole lot of emotional baggage that never lessened, only grew. So yeah, saving people... doing the right thing... sometimes it was just one giant hassle. Because right now, she'd give just about anything to be sitting in a coffee shop with Lois, drinking her favorite latte, discussing boys or shopping or something completely menial. And now she wasn't sure she'd ever have it again.

She gathered up a breath and slowly opened her eyes to see Dean looking at her, hiding his concern with a well placed frown and a questioning brow. So maybe she'd gained something... or _someone_ from all this bullshit. And he wasn't the most sensitive man on the Earth; he didn't like ‘chick flick' moments and he wouldn't _ever_ discuss guys _or_ shopping with her. But her heart stopped clenching and the tears didn't burn so much and all it took was a look from Dean Winchester to accomplish it.

But now wasn't the time to think about relationships or the lack thereof or the many boundaries that had been crossed and were still holding strong when it came to him and her. Right now was reserved for goodbyes and tying up loose ends. Ends she didn't entirely want tied up, but had to.

"Just two more," she murmured.

She licked her lips, dialing another number with shaky hands.

"Hello?" came the voice she'd been so connected to since she was just thirteen.

She opened her mouth but no sound came out. Closed it, closed her eyes, and then tried again. Again, nothing.

"Hello?"

She swallowed tightly. "Is this a Mr. Clark Kent?" she managed, surprisingly sounding calm.

He didn't reply right away and she worried that he might not be quite as quick as Lois had been to latch on to the odd-means of communication. He'd known her since they were thirteen; he _had_ to know her voice, even without his alien abilities. There was no doubt in her mind that Clark knew it was her on the phone.

"Does this have anything to do with Chloe?" Her shoulders fell with relief. "Because I already answered all the questions. I don't know where she is and I had no idea she was planning to escape. I wish I had... But I didn't."

"I understand that you've answered all the previous questions, sir, but I'll need you to answer mine." She'd try to explain it as best she could without actually giving anything away and hold onto the hope that today he wasn't his usual Big Dumb Alien self, but more observant than ever. "Were you aware that Miss Sullivan was married?"

It was fake, but in the eyes of the government the records show that she was indeed married to a Mr. Dean Fogarty. She rolled her eyes when Dean told her the name he'd had Sam write into the marriage certificate. Winchester would draw suspicion immediately and they couldn't afford to have the FBI pay any more attention. So, going along with his unusual love of using rock legends names, she was officially married to a CCR nut.

He cleared his throat. "Not until recently."

"And are you familiar with the person she was married to?" She remembered mentioning Dean and Sam to him... She didn't go into detail; even if it was Clark, some secrets had to be kept from him too. After meeting the two brothers, she understood that they were doing good in the world, a different kind of good than she was used to, but they were helping nonetheless. And she wasn't going to jeopardize that in any way. So to Clark, Dean was just a guy she knew once, helped her out on a case, real handsome and real cocky, but nothing more.

"I've heard of him. Nothing else."

"So you have no idea of his whereabouts?" Please, _please,_ she thought. Don't come looking for me. It was just one of those times... One of those moments where she had to cut loose from her alien best friend and hide beneath the radar. She knew he hated doing it; hated leaving her out there in the world, without him there to protect her. But he had to... And if she were being honest, she knew she was safe. She had Dean and Sam and while they might not have super powers, they were heroes. It was a different kind of danger she was about to walk into, but she had the two of the best men alive to keep her safe. She couldn't tell Clark that but she hoped he knew... Knew that she was smart and resourceful and that in the end, she could take care of herself.

"No," he replied quietly.

"And you have no idea where Chloe might've disappeared to?" She felt her mouth quiver.

He sighed. "No."

"I understand this is hard for you, Mr. Kent, but... In cases much like this, the escapee does not return to their roots. They must avoid everything they hold dear if they want to stay safe... Do you understand what I'm saying?" _I'm not coming back... possibly ever._

He didn't reply right away, the pause wrought with indecision and his usual stubborn attitude when it came to her. "Yes," he said finally.

Chloe wiped at the tear that escaped down her cheek. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time with all these questions."

"No," he said quickly and she could almost _see_ the humble expression on his face. "It was fine. I... I just wish... I wish a lot of things. Maybe if I'd been there for her more she would've have..."

Chloe shook her head. Poor Clark; always thought he could save everybody. She wondered if to him, she'd done something wrong. Right and wrong were black and white to him sometimes, and he didn't care for the grey area. Where did her escaping prison lie? "There was nothing you could do, I'm sure."

"Maybe..." he murmured unconvinced.

"I really must go," she told him quickly. "If I hear of anything... I'll be sure to keep you informed."

"Thank you," he murmured, sounding much like the lonely farmer/alien she'd known most of her life. "Anything at all," he added, letting her know the door was always open, he'd always be there for her.

She took a shaky breath before finally saying goodbye and hanging up. She pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head violently, wishing she could just see them, one more time, tell them why and where she was and that she was okay. But this was as close as she was going to get to them, possibly forever. And that was both terrifying and slightly comforting. They'd be all right and she'd be free and while it would be hard, she knew there was no way to return to the life she had. She had to be content in knowing that they were safe and they'd have to accept that she was somewhere else, living a life they would never know about. A life she didn't even know about yet.

She gathered up the last of her courage and dialed one last number. One last string to cut; the only one connecting her to any semblance of her old life.

"Queen," he answered abruptly.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Queen. I'm just calling to make sure you haven't changed your mind about the renovations you've ordered on your watchtower," she said, lifting a brow.

There was a short pause where he obviously realized what was happening. Sometimes it was good to talk to a professional in this type of business. "Of course... I'm sad to see the original go, but... Sometimes change is needed."

She nodded, hating that her nose itched and her face felt stiff with emotion. "I saw the schematics; the original was in need of some updating."

"To be honest, I believe it was perfect the way it was... And I wish I didn't have to renovate." He sighed. "But circumstances as they are, I know what has to be done and I'm only too sorry to see it go."

"I'm sure you'll be happy though... with the new version." She hadn't realized how much she was going to miss the information rendezvous' with him or Impulse. How she'd miss Bart's cheesy flirting or feeling that overwhelming sense of completion whenever she was told yet another 33.1 lab was destroyed. She was no longer a part of the League and that was... surprisingly depressing.

"Perhaps," he said doubtfully.

She looked down, staring at the Zeppelin t-shirt she was wearing and reminded herself that while her old life was over, it didn't mean her new one would be any less exciting or interesting. "Well... The old version was great while it lasted." She licked her lips. "I know of another building owner who saw the old schematics and want an exact replica. So even if it's not for you, it's perfect for somebody else."

She could hear his smile; that charming Queen grin of his that always made her think they really _could_ save the world. "I'm glad."

"So am I..." She shook her head. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Queen." _And all the adventures you gave me_ , she thought. _Equipped with high tech gadgets, the best in coffee and memories to last a lifetime._ "And I really do hope that your new watchtower will meet all of your requirements."

"It'll be a hard sell; my old one was perfect. But I'm sure that with a little time, I'll grow used to it." He paused for a moment. "Thank you for calling."

She nodded and sighed to herself. Neither of them said goodbye, but she knew he was saying it, letting her go, reassuring her in his own way that he would take care of the League and that he understood what she'd done and why she did. That was all she needed.

She clicked off the phone, stared at it a moment, considered calling Jimmy for only a second and then handed it back to Sam, who pocketed it, looking slightly nervous. "So... who was that?"

"Just tying up loose ends," she told him, leaning back into the embracing seat of the Impala. She closed her eyes, picked up her pop and wrapped her lips around the straw.

Chloe Sullivan, intrepid reporter, was no more. She was sitting in a car with two men who were supposed to be dead and wanted by the FBI, while she had escaped prison and was also wanted. She laughed to herself, running a hand through her hair. She had no idea her life was going to turn out like this, but... It was better than being hunted by meteor freaks or fearing the day Lex Luthor tossed her into one of his labs. She opened her eyes, stared out at the open road and thought it was a million times better than rotting in some prison. She had a friend in the passenger seat and behind the wheel was a man who'd risked it all just to free her; she wasn't hard up for loyalty, that was for sure.

Maybe it wasn't a Pulitzer, but she'd bet everything it was going to be one helluva journey.


	9. sarcastic_fina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Winchester's word was as good as gold and if Dean promised to free her, he would. 

  
**IX.**

Dean pulled into a motel three states over, parked his baby and paid for a room. Chloe bee-lined it for the bathroom and didn't come out for an hour. He didn't have to ask; there was definitely no hot water left. She looked refreshed through; her hair falling in damp tendrils and her top clinging to her body like a second skin. She was wearing the shorts they bought for her that just so happened to be a lot skimpier than he expected. It wasn't as comforting as it might seem because she had long, lean legs, and keeping his eyes off them was impossible. He vaguely heard Sammy say something about going out for awhile. He might've waved or grunted, he wasn't sure. His eyes were glued to the pale legs walking along the floor, back and forth, possibly pacing.

He tore his gaze away and looked at the woman attached to them. She was chewing her lip like she often did when she was nervous. "You think any harder and you're gonna chew that lip right off," he told her, lifting a brow.

She released it but then he was forcing himself not to stare at her rosy red mouth. It'd been a _long_ time since he felt this attracted to a woman and the last three weeks had only made it harder. Seeing her every few days, wanting so much to take all that suffocating bullshit off her shoulder, free her from that prison. And now he had and he realized that maybe he should've thought it through a little more. She had nowhere to go and he wanted her to come with them. She was good with research, could easily handle herself in a fight, and with a little training, he might just let her in the field. A little contact training, with hands and legs and pinning her to the floor. God, he needed to stop thinking.

"I just..." She blew out a breath, shaking her head. She turned to him, staring at him with those large green doe-eyes of hers. He was a sucker from the second she laid ‘em on him but stubborn enough to pretend he wasn't. "What am I doing?" she asked him, her brow furrowing. "Really Dean? What am I...? I've escaped from _prison_!" She let out a laugh, full of disbelief and shock. "I've... I've left all my friends, my family... I'm... I'm a fugitive, on the run with two supposedly dead and wanted men." She shook her head, throwing up her hands. "How do I get into these things?"

"I'm gonna say the last one is just pure luck," he replied, lifting a shoulder.

She snorted, shaking her head. She covered her face with her hands for a moment, breathing in deeply before she pushed them back into her hair and licked her lips. "How'd you know?" she asked, lifting a brow. "Why'd you come looking for me?"

He cleared his throat, looking away. "I got outta hell, felt like seeing a familiar face, found out it was locked away, made it my personal mission to get her out." He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably.

"You got out of hell and just... thought you'd look me up?" She chuckled lightly, offering a small smile. "Why me?"

He shook his head. "Do we really need to talk about this?" he asked, standing up from the bed abruptly. He felt like he needed to leave, go for a walk, clear his head from all the deep emo crap.

"Yes, we do," she said, stepping in his way before he could make a path toward the door. She crossed her arms, planting her feet in the carpet. They both knew he could easily move her, but he didn't. She glanced down and then back up at him. "Tell me the truth... Why were you looking for me?"

He turned away, crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head. He felt the words right there at the back of his throat, he just didn't want to say them.

"Dean?"

"Because I need you," he blurted out, cringing slightly as he turned back to her. With a furrowed brow, she stared up at him. "After what I saw..." He shook his head. "Everything that happened, I just... All I could think was that I needed to be around something good... Something pure." He shook his head. "And all I could think of was you, so... I looked you up and I found this article that said you were thrown in jail... FBI suspicion or some crap, I don't know." He sighed, eyes darting around nervously. "So I knew it was bull and I went to see you. I had Sam fool around with the records; make it look like I was your husband. We had a half-baked plan before I even walked into the prison." He stuffed his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels and blew out a heavy breath. "I wasn't gonna let you stay in there." He shook his head, jaw tense. "After all you've done, everything you do... You don't deserve that." He shrugged, clearing his throat. "Nobody else was doing anything, so me and Sam did."

Her eyes glimmered with tears and he felt his gut clench. He didn't _do_ tears and he really wasn't sure how to make her feel better. She licked her lips and then stepped forward slowly before reaching up on her tip toes and pressed a soft kiss against his cheek. Her hand rose, cupping his face and as she parted from his cheek she turned slightly and so did he. He caught her eyes, looking up at him with nothing but that tenderness. He tipped his head and pressed his mouth to hers, their lips parting together. His eyes fell closed, his arm wrapping around her waist, drawing her up against him. She gasped, he breathed in her exhalations, filling himself with her.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, her body arching into him. His hands slid to her hips, squeezing them, fingers flicking over her back, skimming the top of her tiny shorts. She pressed closer, somehow forcing his much larger body to step backwards, nearer to the bed. The back of his knees hit the edge and he lost his balance, sliding down to sit on the mattress. She stood in front of him, staring down with glazed eyes and puffy red lips. His hands slid up her waist, thumbs stroking her atop the black t-shirt. Her hands sat on top of his shoulders before finally sliding upward, cupping his neck on either side, fingers threading in his hair. She climbed into his lap, straddling his legs and leaned down to press a kiss against his forehead, soft and gentle before she trailed lower, kissing down the side of his face, her soft lips creating a path beneath his eye and along the plain of his cheek before finally kissing the corner of his mouth, her tongue peeking out to lick his lips enticingly. He turned his head, capturing her mouth intensely.

He felt her hands fall down his back, grazing his shoulders before she was bunching the fabric of his t-shirt into her palms, drawing it up. He shrugged one shoulder out and then the other and parted from her mouth as she pulled his shirt from him and threw it away. He kissed her again, feeding off the heat of her tongue and soft feel of her lips. Her hands were running up his back, fingers dipping into the various scars that marred his skin. They slid over his shoulders, fanning out, nails scratching him lightly, making him shift in his seat. Her palms wrapped around his biceps, tracing the sculpt as they fell lower, thumbs stroking the sensitive underside, making his muscles twitch. He felt her smile against his mouth and nipped her lower lip, smirking as she whimpered in pleasure.

She leaned him back until he felt the cool texture of the blanket against his skin. He panted as their mouths parted and his eyes followed her as she bent low to his chest, pressing a kiss against the recently healed gash beneath his collar bone. She traced each and every scar with her mouth, tongue teasing them. He knew he had many, but having her lips against each one reminded him of just that. He wasn't used to slow but he kinda liked this. Her tongue ducked into his navel and his stomach jumped in reaction. He could feel her chuckling against him and then her teeth grazing his abdomen as it flexed beneath her exploring mouth. Her hands slid away from his arms, spreading out over his chest, running up and down, teasing his flesh before stopping at the top of his jeans. Her nimble fingers made quick work of his belt, undoing it easily before popping the button of his jeans and lowering the zipper. She knelt above him, tugging at his jeans for him to lift up and shuffle them off. And then she was sitting back down and he could feel her heat through the thin layers of fabric between them.

He inhaled sharply, his eyes catching hers as they glittered at him knowingly. He sat up, his hands sliding across her hips and up the curve of her back. She arched into him, her front pressing against him tightly. Given the angle, he was face to breast with her. With no bra, her perky mounds peaked through the thin Zeppelin shirt enticingly. He wrapped his mouth around one taut breast, sucking on her through the fabric. She gripped the back of his neck, trying to get him closer, trying to feel him through her shirt. His tongue lapped at her nipple, drawing it out, making it hard beneath his ministrations. His arm tightened around her waist, fingers pressing against her, holding her as close as he could get her. He could feel her hips twisting and turning, brushing against his arousal with each movement.

He moved his free hand up, cupped her ignored breast and massaged it, using the rough fabric of the shirt to excite her skin and tease her nipple. She whimpered, her nails scraping at his neck. He loosened his arm, let it slide lower until he could feel the rim of her shorts, his fingers sliding around it, drawing the thin fabric down her hips. She lifted up slightly, moving to help him rid her of the shorts entirely. He separated from her momentarily, to stare at her in her lacey white panties, barely hiding anything from him. They were damp with desire and thin enough to snap without even trying. He hooked his arm under her bottom, lifted her up and turned them around, laying her back on the bed, her thighs parted for him to slid up in between.

He kissed her stomach, feeling it flex and lift beneath his mouth, her breathing becoming heavy. He turned her hips until her lower half was lying on her side and then kissed her hip, just above the flimsy band of her panties. His hand slid up the outside of her thigh while he kissed higher, along the slope of her waist and along the curvy figure he'd dreamt of touching just like this. So many nights spent thinking of her, with far less clothing and under very different circumstances. He pushed her shirt up the higher he went, mapping out her body with his lips, kissing the curve of her breast, his tongue briefly flicking over the revealed pink nipple. Finally, she was free of her shirt entirely, curved up against him, almost completely bare. Her back to his chest, warm and soft. His arm wrapped around to her front, hand splaying out across her chest, sliding down between the valley of her breasts. He kissed her shoulder, up her throat and then around to the back, nuzzling her hair out of the way to press his mouth against the nape of her neck.

He kissed down her spine, nose lightly grazing her as he slid lower, while his hand caressed her torso, over her breast and along her ribs, trailing across her stomach until finally cupping her between her thighs. She jerked forward into his hand, his fingers grazing her folds over top the damp white fabric, teasing her. Her hand wrapped around his forearm, slid lower, thumb grazing the pulse at his wrist before finally wrapping around his hand, lifting it up and then sliding it beneath the fabric of her panties, putting it where she wanted it. Their fingers twined for a moment, both of them stroking her wet heat. She parted her knees, giving him more access to her slit, so he could delve two thick digits inside of her, his thumb stroking her clit in tandem.

Her back was flexing beneath his mouth, arching further into his kisses. He trailed back up, fanning out across her shoulder blade, teeth nipping at her lightly. Her arm rose behind her, fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close. She turned her head, stared up at him with dark eyes and a smile that spoke all kinds of volumes he wasn't sure he could understand. But then she was kissing him, slow and deep and even if he didn't speak "chick" he knew what _that_ meant. Her arm fell, hand sliding behind her to push at his boxers and he slid his hand away from her quivering heat to shed them while she quickly took her own panties off, throwing them away. His hand found her hip, fingers tightening around her as she parted her legs and slid back, completely open and encouraging him to fill her.

He stared at her a moment, his breathing heavy, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. She looked so beautiful; flushed and scrubbed completely clean from head to toe. No make up, just natural and stunning Chloe Sullivan. Her eyes were a darker green, beating into him with an intensity he'd grown to love about her. _Love_. He wanted to force the word away and all of its meanings. He didn't want to admit that all the time he spent trying to get her free, all the time he spent worrying about her and the nights he laid in a bed just like this, thinking about her, before and after his trip to hell, it was all leading to this kind of moment. Because she was never gonna be like those other woman; couldn't on her worst day.

She was... _her._ Tenacious and spunky and full of snark that he loved hearing, battling it with his own sarcasm. And maybe a few years ago, he would've seen a pretty blonde with nice curves and a mouth on her that he figured he could put to better use, but now... knowing her, having gone through what he had with her, realizing that she was the first person he thought of when he got out of hell, besides Sam, of course... He knew what that meant. He'd rarely felt it, but he knew... This was a whole new caliber for him. _She_ was a whole lot more intense than all the other women in his past; whether they were one-night stands or relationships that just didn't work.

He kissed her, slow and soft and he knew there was no going back. His hand hooked around her thigh, lifting it as he sunk into her from behind. She lifted her knee, angled her hips and whimpered against his mouth as he slid in deep. He groaned, his brow furrowing against the need to go faster, to feel all of her, immediately. They parted and her head fell back, she licked her lips, biting down as he thrust into her, pulling out slowly only to slide back in, deeper each time. He watched her face for a moment, fascinated with how her eyes fluttered and her brow furrowed and relaxed. How she chewed her lip and then soothed it with her own tongue, trying to slow her breathing but only panting more.

His hand slid up her stomach, thumb stroking her ribs before his fingers cupped her breast, squeezing it lightly as they fell into a rhythm. He kissed her shoulder, her neck, suckled the crook between them both as he was enveloped by her tight heat. Her slick back slid against his chest, her skin tasting of salty warmth. Her hand covered his against her breast, their fingers falling between each others, while her other arm curled up behind her, gripped the back of his hair in tandem with his strokes inside of her. He went slow for as long as he could, enjoying the way she quivered and tightened, how she cried out his name under breath.

She felt so good; so tight; so embracing. She fit around him like his hand on a sawed off, the perfect match. He slid one of his hands between her thighs, stroking her clit until she cried out and shook hard around him. He slowed down, letting her come down from the feeling. He could feel her trembling against him, her entire body opening up to the feelings, her hand clutching his

"Harder," she gasped, rotating her hips, asking for more.

He turned them over further until her stomach was pressing down against the mattress and she lifted her hips, her back arching up against his chest. He thrust quicker now, deeper inside of her, feeling that aftershocks of her orgasm still shaking her inner walls, still clenching around him. He held her hip with one hand, his other arm wrapped around her, fingers splayed out between her breasts. She spread her legs farther apart, lifted an arm back to hold onto him and gripped the blanket with her other hand. He kissed her shoulder tenderly, a drastic difference from his hard strokes filling her. He could feel his body dampen with sweat, could feel the tightening in his arms and legs, the thrum running up and down him.

He lost control of what was left of any self control and let himself take her. He waited so long; he'd wanted her for what felt like forever. His hands slid up her back, feeling it curve and flex beneath his fingers and she leaned into his thrusts, meeting each with gyrating hips and a warm, welcoming heat. "Oh god, Dean, yes," he heard her cry, over and over again. "Yes, yes, yes..." and "Dean, Dean, Dean," like her own little chant. And he felt good; really good. Better than he had before he took his little trip to Hell. He hadn't expected her to soothe the wounds like this; figured it was going to be a whole lot of talking and soft, tender looks, but he liked this better. Didn't want it to end.

He could do without talking, but having her like this. Not just with her wrapped around his hard length, but having her so close, so bare, her soft skin beneath his fingers, that was enough to keep the demons at bay. He didn't feel so out of place when he had her there. Didn't feel like such a twisted lunatic when she was kissing him or touching him or just looking at him with those eyes of hers. And when she was tightening around him like she was now, he felt like he'd just killed the meanest bad ass demon all on his own. Like he'd won the war entirely and this was his prize. A lifetime of beautiful curves and soft skin and green eyes that made his gut clench up.

She sobbed his name as she came, her hands curling tightly around the bedspread beneath her, the rest of her body spasming and clenching around him so fucking tight, he couldn't hold back. He closed his eyes, his forehead pressing down against her back, his mouth falling open in a gasp, a guttural moan of her name escaping him. He came hard, his entire body seeming to evaporate as he hit his highest peak and fell right off the edge. Their hips were still moving, even as he had no energy to do so. They slid down to the bed, exhausted and sated and fell to their sides. She panted for air, lying in a heap of glistening pale skin and damp blonde hair. He wrapped his arms around her, drew her up close until she was so tight against his chest, she felt like another appendage; a part of him.

She managed to wiggle away, turn herself over so she was facing him and threw her leg over his hip for more comfort. She kissed him lazily, small strokes of her mouth against his and he leaned back until he was sprawled out across the bed. She followed, covering his body with hers, her hands cupping his cheeks and her eyes holding his gaze, intense and loving as she continued to slant her mouth across his, their tongues tangling languidly.

He reached up, tucking a bunch of her hair behind her ear, stroking the shell affectionately. She smiled against his lips, kissing him once more before drawing away, putting her head on his shoulder and just sighing, contently. She found one of his hands, held it against his chest, playing with his fingers. He pulled the blanket up from beneath them, threw it over top them and silently watched as she fell into a half doze against his chest. He trailed a hand up and down her back, fingers tracing her spine slowly, so soft he wasn't sure she could even feel it.

She nuzzled her head in close to him, inhaling deeply before she relaxed. "We'll talk more when I wake up," she muttered.

He frowned. Damn and he figured all the talking was done.

She chuckled lightly under her breath looking up at him from beneath long lashes. "You know one of these days you're gonna have to admit you're in love with me, Dean Winchester."

He swallowed tightly. He already knew what he felt; it was just a matter of saying it.

"Not today though," she assured before closing her eyes and laying her cheek down against his chest. "For now, it's enough that I love you."

First he was stunned, then he was grinning. He kissed her hair, held her a little tighter, and closed his eyes. Nothing in his life was perfect; he was supposed to be dead and living an eternity in hell, he still had a demon war to worry about, his girlfriend was an escaped con, and well, he was Winchester, that said enough about his life as it was. But... It just got a little better and that was enough to keep him just sane enough to keep going, keep hunting, and keep on keeping on.


	10. sarcastic_fina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Winchester's word was as good as gold and if Dean promised to free her, he would. 

  
  
**X - Epilogue**

"Okay, seriously... I want my own room," Sam announced, throwing his arms up. "No offense, Chlo, but really... Hearing you guys go at it _every single night_... I'm liable to go crazy." He nodded, his expression both comical and serious. "It's been three weeks, is there no off button?"

Dean laughed. "Hey, just because you can't get any..."

"That is _not_ the issue!" his brother replied hotly.

"Yeah," Chloe piped in, grinning. "We all know the waitress at the last stop would've _gladly_ taken Sam into the back."

Sam glowered. "She was three times my age, twice my size, and..." He cleared his throat. "I felt dirty whenever she looked at me."

Chloe at least tried to hide her laughter, Dean on the other hand nearly bust a gut.

Sam sighed, looking annoyed and slightly amused. "Shut up," he muttered, shaking his head before he looked away.

While people were still on the look out for a pretty blonde prison escapee, they were doing just fine on the run. Deacon had called; he was in the clear. It wasn't his fault there was a guard shortage that night. He was only doing his job. He told them to be careful though; a lot of people were looking into her sudden breakout from prison. But they were used to staying under the radar and didn't have much trouble as long as they stayed away from Kansas for awhile. Which was fine given their hunts seemed to be a few states away. Chloe was officially part of the team, training with the two brothers when they weren't hunting and helping with research when they were. She wasn't yet allowed in the field, but soon... maybe... When Dean was sure she wasn't going to get her head torn off. Healing ability or not, he wasn't risking a beheading just to see how far her meta-human _thing_ could go.

They were on their way to the next suspicious death and it was Sam's turn to ride in the back, so of course he was being a bitch about it. Apparently he didn't like being ignored and he really wasn't enjoying the suddenly swervy ride. All right, so Dean had been a little distracted with Chloe kissing his neck and maybe he hadn't paid as much attention to the road as he should, but whatever. They were on the outskirts of town, the Motel nearby which is probably why Sammy had his panties in a wad.

"It's not safe for separate rooms," Dean reminded, glancing at his little brother through the mirror. He was a little annoyed the kissing had stopped. Chloe had moved back over to sit on her side of the seat, instead of leaning into him like she was. So the ride got a little bumpy a few times and he probably should've at least given the reigns over to Sam and just enjoyed some fun in the backseat. He kinda enjoyed having both; his baby and his girl. Then again, Chloe and her wandering hands might just get his Impala wrapped around a tree. So maybe it was good she wasn't touching him anymore.

He scowled; he couldn't make up his mind.

"So we'll get a room that has a joining door," Sam practically whined, leaning forward. He looked at Chloe as though she'd be the voice of reason and she smiled slightly.

"It is kind of mean to him," she admitted, lifting a brow at Dean.

He sighed. "Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam replied with a grin.

Chloe rolled her eyes, smiling lightly.

They passed a sign telling them their next exit was coming up and Dean pressed down on the accelerator a little more. He glanced out of the corner of his eye to see Sam and Chloe talking. She was turned in her seat, her knees drawn up, shoes kicked off, feet against Dean's thigh, toes randomly wiggling as if to let him know she noticed him. She'd gotten real comfortable in the last few weeks. The harsh darkness of prison had slowly worn away some and she wasn't nearly as jumpy or suspicious of everyone. She didn't mind them walking behind her anymore; for awhile there she couldn't handle anybody standing at her back, it made her feel vulnerable. She didn't wake up every time he got out of bed, either. Which was good, considering before he could barely move and she'd be up and alert and looking around for trouble. The wounded and terrified look in her eyes made him hate the FBI and everybody who left her in that prison as long as she was. But it was good to see her coming back; to see her relaxing more and getting back to her tenacious and snarky roots.

The battle wasn't over; it never was. While she was out of prison, she'd forever be on the run. Worked out well that she was with them, but he wondered if eventually she might get tired of the life. It wasn't easy; they dealt with death every day; other people's and often their own or each other's. He knew he now had another back to watch, another soul to worry about. As much as he loved his brother, it was hard worrying every day that today might be the day the demons get him or he just doesn't make it through the next hunt. But Sammy had practice behind him; he was a good hunter with quick reflexes and a sharp mind. Chloe was a former reporter with a better handle on the computer than anything supernatural. Point in fact, she usually wound up injured or near death because of crap like this and he wasn't looking forward to bringing her into a hospital only to have to break her out before the FBI got her. So for now, she'd stay behind the laptop, with a ring of salt around her and every protection symbol he could think of. They'd train her when they had the time, until she was so ready even Sam was saying she should join a hunt, and then, only then, would he let her into the field.

"So what do we have boys?" Chloe asked, nodding up toward the sign welcoming them to the city.

Sam grinned. "Well..."

Dean felt her toes nudge him and a smile quirked his lips. Life wasn't so bad. He made a promise, he kept it, and now he had what Sam dubbed "the girl of his dreams." He wasn't going to admit to any girly crap like that but maybe he wasn't as unlucky as he once thought. His life had a tendency of screwing him over but for just now, he was doing all right.

He glanced at Chloe who was nodding to what Sam was saying. She looked up, as if feeling her eyes on him and she smiled slowly, suggestively. Her eyes darkened and he felt his chest clench just a little bit. It took getting used to, seeing those words in her eyes, a declaration he rarely made. He hadn't said it back, but she always looked like she knew anyway and she didn't mind waiting. He hoped she saw it in his eyes; the promise that one day he was going to say it. He was a Winchester and while he might not be as normal as they come, his word was always kept. And he promised to tell her just how much he loved her; when the time was right, when he didn't feel like he was a complete pussy for admitting it. Probably when Sam was out on one of his "I'm emo and I need to think by myself" walks. Or maybe when she was so exhausted she barely heard him; where he'd worked that curvy little body of hers to just about passing out. Then he wouldn't have to see that knowing smirk of hers.

She winked at him and he tore his eyes away and back to the road. There was a motel up ahead, the vacancy sign blinking. He'd get a head start on exhausting her and see if the words came. If not, hell, it wasn't like he was losing anything in the end. And just to be a good guy, he'd get Sammy his own room. Not that it would matter; they were thin walls and Chloe was very _vocal_. He smirked and parked his Impala, digging around for his wallet for one of his many fake credit cards. It was just another day, like any other, but today he felt kinda good about being him. He'd never have the normal life; with the picket fence and the minivan (thankfully). But he had everything he needed. His baby, his brother, his girl, and a lifetime to make every son of a bitch that had a hand in fucking him over pay with their life. He smirked. It was going to be one helluva ride.

 


End file.
